By way of healthy comparison long term track athlete Kelly Holmes won two golds in wonderful fashion, each time pacing herself with such confidence she could race through from the back of the field. All of it was a tribute to a woman with not a trace of ill-feeling or hate in her and whose delight and genuine personal pride was as refreshing as her victories. Brilliant, Kelly, just brilliant.

Of course these things happen in all forms of sport. Ask yourself why an outstanding football team loses to an obviously inferior outfit, or why some great teams “freeze” in a final they would win nine times out of ten. Human beings – athletes or not – have their moments of vulnerability. Fortunately, that’s the way the species has been constructed. Me, I wouldn’t have it any other way. It makes for a lot of humour amongst other things. But for a media anxious to avoid looking foolish there has to be someone or something to blame, but never themselves. And guess who it will be if they have already built up that same personality? You’ve guessed it.

And talking of fraud and hypocrisy, right on cue came the latest Wayne Rooney Saga, a transfer request on match eve, orchestrated by seedy Paul Stretford and his shareholders at ProActive, aided by mob-mentality rumours on all sides. As you watched the whole sad spectacle take its long-forecast inevitable and tedious path you couldn’t help feeling Hieronymus Bosch would have had his own special delight with the subject of professional football. Or maybe it would be Salvador Dali. Or Pablo Picasso in a bad mood. Or even Joseph Heller or Spike Milligan. As it unfolded all you wanted to do was get a good, hot shower and wash away the reek of hysteria over an eighteen years old youngster who can play football. A mob of any kind is always an ugly sight, a media mob the worst of all. Paranoid and lunatic theories abound as they always do in this kind of situation. As usual the truth is much more prosaic.

At its heart lies the inability of David Moyes and Wayne Rooney to hit it off. That’s the first domino. Had they had mutual solid confidence it probably could have withstood inevitable stresses and strains. This includes the corrupting influence of Stretford and some irresponsible players in the squad. Everything else, EVERYTHING, follows from that, including all the wretched manipulation and double-dealing by all parties. When you stop and think about it such human chemistry is at the root of most events. In that sense, nobody’s at “fault.” So far as I know simply being human isn’t yet a crime. Once the two personalities fell out the ineffable system made sure which way events would go.

The fact is the only individual who could ABSOLUTELY have stopped it in his tracks is Wayne himself. But of course he’s as naïve – possibly more so – as the next individual at that age. Only blaming him is as ridiculous as only blaming Stretford or Moyes or the other players or Kenwright or Gregg or Woods or, for that matter, the media. They all played their part to greater or lesser extent. But once the first dismal domino went down the rest followed automatically. Given current circumstances in the game and at the club (and the personalities involved) it became inevitable. Frankly, all the rest is hot-air in a hot-house blame-someone-anyone-atmosphere. It has been interesting as a minor anthropological study, but of little new use in the real world. We’ve seen it all before and we’ll see it all again. None of which absolves personal responsibilities where they fall due.

Whereas the real problems lie in how money and power are presently distributed throughout the game. If you promote a system that overtly depends entirely on profit and nothing else why be surprised when that becomes the one-dimensional objective of everyone at the expense of everything else? It isn’t so much immoral as amoral. Eventually, all you get is the cheap rationalisation and glib articulated excuses you can hear any day in any criminal court anywhere in the world. In this case, Wayne Rooney (like all other professional footballers) has become an item to be sold and profited from. This now applies to the entire professional game from top to bottom. Sometimes, players UNDER THE AGE OF TEN are bought and sold. And make no mistake, an increasing number of fans are as guilty as the main perpetrators. Fortunately they are still very much in the minority. But in their rush for media hyped “success” they have fallen all too readily for the kind of propaganda you’ll find so brilliantly described in Orwell’s “1984.” Now tell me again – who are we fighting today? Eurasia (Streftford)? Or Eastasia (oriental beer sponsors)? Or is it Goldstein (any victim figure you care to mention)?

Had Moyesy and young Wayne had a good relationship then likely it wouldn’t have happened at all. But they didn’t, simple as. So when things failed, they failed along all the structural default lines. It was like watching a building demolished in slow motion. You see the same sort of thing in an imploded marriage that ends up in court with two people biting lumps out of each other, both of them usually blindly supported by relatives and by lawyers locked into an iniquitous adversary system. Afterwards, there’s nothing but shame-faced foot-shuffling for everybody involved.

Streftford was always going act miserably, take advantage and work on the weaknesses because that is the nature of his disgusting occupation and the way he is allowed to operate. The Everton directors – whoever they were or are – were always going to try to get the maximum amount for him once he wanted to leave because it is “good business.” That is, make the maximum amount of money to mop up the blood. Paul Gregg, of course, fooling nobody, was always suddenly going to become what he has never been and never will be, an Evertonian. Bill Kenwright and Jon Woods were always going to get their heads down to avoid the heat. Rumour-mongers were always going to have a field day because the situation was virtually tailor made for hate-filled apocalyptic loonies with a neurosis to peddle. In its worst manifestation it leads inevitably to death threats, or should I say deth threts, as does all irrational hate. Ill informed fans were always going to be bewildered and visceral. The media were always going to make a spectacle of it to sell themselves, or, in some rather obvious cases, actually do Proactive’s dirty work for them. Last, but certainly not least, the lad himself probably just wanted to get away from everything and everybody. Not that that will ever be possible for him again during his time playing pro football. His life changed forever the moment he scored against Arsenal two seasons ago. One fervently hopes for his own sake that he has seen the last of the tragic farce of being hidden in cars and vans to suit his thoroughly discredited agent. But I doubt it. You can stir the mix any way you want, strengthen or weaken the additives, the end taste will always be the same so long as we endure the present systemic medicine. Nasty, terminal even. Hiding behind it all are the usual second rate salesmen and two bit pimps, self-styled “businessmen,” waiting to take even more advantage.

After young Rooney the one who draws most sympathy is obviously David Moyes. Even by contemporary measure he has had to put up with some awful circumstances and has managed to acquit himself with admirable dignity. Nobody could blame him if he walked. But it’s a safe bet he now realises just how much his future owes to the man, not a director (who it should have been), who took him to one side earlier this year and told him a few home truths about how to deal with everyone, a message he took on board and had the good sense to admit and act on. It may yet save us from worse possibilities. Thus demonstrating it is never too late to effect change. So he made some management mistakes. Again, so what? Show me someone who hasn’t. It isn’t the end of the world, though you’ll always have a little man with a placard at the end of the street and the taut voice of a missionary trying to tell you otherwise.

Match morning, I turned on BBC Radio Five. An editor from a local rag was saying, “Yes, Paul Stretford is the man to look after Wayne Rooney.” I turned the set off, shaking my head. There it was, the bought-and-paid-for sick rationalisation. Doubtless you’ll have heard something similar from another source. On lunch time TV Gordon Strachan reduced it to a single phrase in his own concise manner. “Rooney,” he said with straightforward commonsense, “was always going to leave after he signed for Proactive.” Plainly, dear Gordon knows which way the dominos are set, as he should. It was nice to know someone was trying to keep his head amongst all the hate-filled hysteria. So I went the match to see if we could collar the latest Midlands manifestation, Gary Megson’s West Bromwich Albion.

(A little interjection here. Years ago, we were playing a German team in some European competition or other. We were due to play West Brom in a League match the following Saturday. For some reason the small knot of affable visiting Jerries thought they could discomfit us by chanting, “Vest Brum! Vest Brum!” I never did discover the relevance or even whether any of our crowd knew what the fuck the visitors meant. Also, a couple of years ago visiting Albion fans were giving it the usual tedious tripe of, “Shall We Sing A Song For You?” when a lone Scouse voice in the Park End shouted disinterestedly, “Sing anything you want so long as it isn’t by fucking Slade.” Of such zaniness are all fans made.)

I expected a gate of less than 30,000, but in the end the fans came up trumps yet again. Astonishingly in the circumstances it totalled over 34,000. So the death of us Evertonians has been greatly exaggerated. Then Neil showed up, slightly shamefaced. “I thought you hadn’t renewed?” I asked with mock surprise. He pointed to his forehead. “You see that word there?” “No.” “Well, it says ‘dickhead’” he said ruefully. Later Ozzie showed up too, thus demonstrating that his household is not as totally matriarchal as Neil’s wicked gossip implied. Stevie arrived in mid-holiday. In the end, sadly, we were missing only the two Peters. Come back, lads. You know you want to.

So the match set off, Rooneyless. Inside two minutes we were one up in the Street End. One of our duo of Slapheads (couldn’t see which one precisely) took a long throw near our left corner flag. It dropped a dog length short of the near post, got nodded backwards in the usual flurry of floating bodies and Leon Osman arrived far post like a wraith and butted it firmly home. Bloody hell, cracking start, that. The entire team submerged him at the far corner flag to indicate the sort of change in spirit we all want to see.

We had scarcely eased our throats before Albion got a series of corners and then one of their big players got above everybody else and squared the scores with a classic bullet header from a right wing cross. Well, Joey can’t be everywhere, though sometimes he gives it a damn good try.

To our surprise the game then settled into a series of neat, end-to-end moves by both sides, nothing much to choose between them. Being biased, I of course think we had the better of the exchanges. We certainly had more clear chances thanks to the tenacity of Marcus Bent and the always slowing body strength of Kevin Campbell. He might have lost much of his pace but it still takes some muscle to knock him off the ball, or get him on the ground. In this case both he and Marcus had a running battle with their number six, a centre back who wouldn’t look out of place in the Kirkby Sunday League. As usual they all bladdered each other at five minutes intervals, elbows, sly kicks, knees in the thighs, that sort of thing. Only Marcus came out of it looking fresh and mean. Meantime, we had a series of headers and shots cleared with last ditch defence, some of it almost comically desperate. Albion are a very big side but lack skill even more decisively than we do.

Sadly, well into the match some fans start anti-Rooney chanting. This can only please Stretford and co. and the hate-mongers and is to be condemned out of hand. It’s useless anyway, see above. Get over it. He’s going, shortly or next January. Strachan had it bang-on. Thankfully none of our immediate crowd joined in with the nonsense, though Neil did say mischievously as half time loomed, “D’you think we should have a mass protest piss?” He has this way with words. So has Stevie – no sooner had he made a general remark about the caprice of footy fate than Joey delivered one of his sliding blockbuster tackles and conceded a throw in on our right near the corner flag. Their man thought he was dead clever, took it quickly by throwing it against Joey’s back as he trotted away and collected the rebound. Then he got pulled up for a foul throw. You had to larf.

Surprisingly the second half kept up the same sort of movement and incident. Compared to last season some of our play was as smooth as silk. Then again, just kicking the ball accurately from A to B would qualify for that description. But it wouldn’t be fair to decry what (so far) looks like genuine efforts to do better. Team spirit and individual pride has made an early manifestation and should be acknowledged if it can be maintained. We live in hope.

After an hour SuperKev got subbed by The Big Yin in what is likely to be a familiar routine. Neither of them can give the full ninety anymore. The Yin promptly picked up the battle with their number six where Kev had left off after getting bladdered to the ground once too often. Their man must have suffered double vision as a result. I’m not sure, but it might have been he who jumped all over The Yin on our right just outside the penalty box and the D. Lee Carsley smashed a free kick through the only central gap there was and an unmarked Leon stooped and nodded it slightly offline past the hapless keeper. This arrived just as we were saying almost in unison, “Osman’s gone. He best take him off now.” Now, what was I saying about the caprice of footy fate?

In fact the second half was mostly ours. I can’t recall Nige having a save to make, though that is probably due to bias too. Albion were big and strong but mostly lumbering. By contrast Our Boys played spiritedly and seemed quite determined in a way we scarcely saw last season. Nothing to go overboard about, just encouraging in an early-season-sort-of-way. Tony and Sandro were usually firm at right and left back respectively. The former’s tackling was good and firm but his crossing usually lousy, while Sandro’s concentration lapsed only twice. In central defence there isn’t too much to be said about Joey Yobo that you haven’t heard already, though his loose limbed style can sometimes make him look a bit naïve. Stubbsy was first rate in this game and wore the expression of a guerrilla fighter most of the time, which is to be welcomed warmly after last season’s slapdash horrors. The midfield of Osman, Gravesen, Carsley and Kilbane performed well and rarely gave the ball away unchallenged; when they functioned at their best it kept Albion stretched the full width of the pitch. Up front, Marcus Bent has given us the kind of energy and concentration we only had when You Know Who was there, but of course he isn’t half the player. So far, though, he has done really well and seems to be a good player in his own right. Kev and The Yin we already know about.

Overall, as last week, mildly encouraging, exampled by the way the entire team rushed to Osman after he scored both goals. The crowd too were in a good mood, Rooney nonsense aside.

It might be a different story altogether on Monday. That is the caprice of football. Nevertheless, you can still find it there, hiding in the rotten structure away from the spivs and liars. God knows how long it can survive.

David Moyes: "You could see by the players' reaction at the end of the game that we're all determined to stick together. We're making sure that we're together and the players have done well.

"The players were great and the support we received was, as always, fantastic."

Lard: "Are yer coming for a pint to celebrate."

Jogger:"I can't, I've got to go to a wedding."

Lard:"You jessie."

Jogger:"Oh ok then."

* Celebrating both goals, all the team as one. Fantastic.

* In the last minute, Grav down the Park End gets a corner after cheekily hitting the ball on purpose against the Baggies defender. He looks at him and says ' that's class that'.

After the Rooney saga, trying to find some reinforcements before Tuesday's deadline, the cash crisis between Greggo, Blue Bill and the mystery Russian, it is easy to forget that we have to get our arses over to Goodison on Saturday afternoon, to hopefully get three points against The Baggies.

Moyesy thankfully only has to deal with the abscence of Gary Naysmith after his child like sending off at Palace last week. Super Kev and Big Dunc seemed to have beaten the clock in getting fit, but Everton new boy Tim Cahill is still suspended, but will be introduced to the Goodison faithful before kick off, lets give him a good 'un. Rooney is also being allowed to come on to the pitch to say his farewells, he will be doing a lap of honour in a 1942 Sherman Tank. C'mon you believed me for a minute then, didn't you.

Moyesy says: "Preparing a squad for the West Bromwich match is the most important thing. This is a period where it’s difficult for everybody, the supporters as well. The club is bigger than any one manager, player or chairman so let’s get right behind the team on Saturday, whoever wears the jersey show your support, which you always have done, for the football club. I just hope that everybody trusts that we’re trying to do the best for Everton.

Saturday is important. We want to get the three points on board, there’s a good spirit amongst the lads, they had a good win last week and they need to focus totally on getting those three points because they’re really important for us. We’ve got to keep the momentum going. It’s a game which we want to win and if we play as well as we did last week then we won’t be far away from it, that’s for sure. I know we’ll be giving everything we can to win. We have done in the two games this season, the players are doing their level best in every game and if we do that then you can’t ask for anything more from them." (28/08/04)

Everton (from): Martyn, Hibbert, Pistone, Stubbs, Yobo, Weir, Osman, Gravesen, Carsley, Kilbane, Campbell, Ferguson, Bent, Wright, Watson, McFadden, Clarke.

Jogger's Everton XI To Start: Martyn, Hibbert, Stubbs, Yobo, Pistone, Osman, Gravesen, Carsley, Kilbane, Campbell, Bent,

Jogger's Bet: £10 on Bent 1st goalscorer (9-1). £10 Everton to win 3-1 (16-1)

West Brom are set to name an unchanged side. Jason Koumas once an Everton target serves the final game of a ban, and is not in the baggies squad. Hungarian Zoltan Gera is and retains his place on the right.